


Cicadas

by yeaka



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Anal Sex, Dom/sub, Dominance, Established Relationship, Ficlet, M/M, Rough Sex, Submission
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-15
Updated: 2015-07-15
Packaged: 2018-04-09 11:04:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,831
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4346120
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lindir punishes his lord Elrond for allowing the dwarves to stay.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cicadas

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Fill for anon’s “role reversal on how these two are usually portrayed because as much as I love sub!Lindir, I don't think I've ever seen sub!Elrond and it seems interesting” prompt on [the Hobbit Kink Meme](http://hobbit-kink.livejournal.com/14338.html?thread=26123778#t26123778).
> 
> Disclaimer: I don’t own The Hobbit or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

It isn’t until the night the dwarves leave that Lindir comes to his master’s room, anticipation running tight under his skin. He’s nearly trembling, has felt this need since the moment they arrived, and Elrond followed, that single flicker in his eye telling Lindir _everything._ Lindir knew he would be rewarded for his patience. He knew he would get another of _those_ evenings, the sort that neither would dare breathe aloud to any other—something secret and sacred, so different than everything they are. Lindir steps through his lord’s doors and lifts his head high. For tonight, he’s no longer a servant. And Elrond is...

Elrond is Lindir’s _everything_ , and in these rare moments, Lindir is allowed to _own_ him. When he’s closed the grand wooden doors behind him, he sweeps inside and finds Elrond standing tall. They lock eyes, and Lindir still checks for that permission. It could stop at any time. He always expects it. But Elrond is calm and trusting and sends only encouragement, so Lindir closes the space between them. 

He opens his dry mouth and hisses, low and thick, “You have been very naughty, my lord.”

Elrond merely quirks an eyebrow. His amusement doesn’t show on his face, but Lindir still knows it’s there. 

Lindir’s breath quickens, he tilts his head higher, and he adds, “You should not have let them stay so long.”

Elrond should do anything he likes. Yet his lashes fall against his cheeks, and he dips his head in acquiescence, like something of a _bow_. A shiver twists down Lindir’s spine. In his deep, alluring voice, Elrond purrs, “I apologize.” Lindir says nothing, wanting _more_ , and Elrond murmurs, “I am sorry to have put a strain on you.”

It was more than manageable. Difficult, perhaps, but no more so than Lindir is equipped to handle. Here, his jaw tightens. He means to set the tone for the evening, knowing Elrond will go along with whatever he decides. 

He practically sneers, “Apologies will not relieve my stress.” Elrond nods accordingly. 

He says, “I offer you whatever you may wish to take of me, in order to make amends.” Lindir bites the inside of his mouth to stifle his moan— _Elrond_ is all he’s ever wished for.

He steps forward, the last one between them, so that his boots are tucked between his lord’s and their chests are brushing, him slightly shorter but high enough to align them well. He looses his hands, and they shoot for either side of Elrond’s chiseled face, cupping him and fingers running back through his dark hair. Lindir spares only a moment to _feel_ his master’s smooth skin, and then he tilts his head and lunges forward, smashing their mouths together. 

Elrond almost gasps against him, as though startled by the sudden rough treatment—elves don’t usually meld in such a way. But Lindir has been given permission to follow his desires, and he claims Elrond’s mouth fiercely, his tongue slipping forward to plunge straight inside. He kisses Elrond breathlessly, an endless string of open-mouthed nips and suction and licking and _tasting_ one another—he could lose himself in Elrond’s mouth. He _loves_ this man, so completely. Elrond kisses back but allows Lindir to lead, until Lindir is shaking with want and running his palms down Elrond’s throat, sweeping over his shoulders. Lindir deftly unfastens his cloak and shoves it to the floor, then claws at the clips of his robes, practically ripping them aside, until Lindir can slip his hands inside. He caresses Elrond’s chest, feels the rise and fall of Elrond’s heart, and finally forces himself to let go. 

He parts their lips, spreads his hands against Elrond’s middle, and gives his lord a quick, hard shove. If Elrond wanted to, surely he could catch himself—he’s a magnificent warrior—yet he lets himself fall. He lands sprawled on the floor, his body turning so he can steady himself against it, up on one elbow with his legs half bent at the knees. His robes have fallen off one shoulder, exposing pale, creamy skin to Lindir’s hungry eyes. 

His lord is _beautiful_. Even far older than Lindir as he is, there is none whom Lindir would rather watch. There is none so enchanting, so enthralling. His long hair is curled on the ground behind him, the two thin braids that Lindir twisted in this morning falling over his shoulders. He keeps his eyes lowered, like a respectful servant unworthy of meeting his master’s gaze. He’s so tempting that Lindir can hardly wait another moment. 

Lindir barely manages to croak, “Rise.” 

Elrond does, but slowly. He doesn’t fix his disheveled robes. He only gets halfway to his feet before Lindir moves, grabbing him and turning him, slamming him down across his own writing desk. It’s clear, tidy, like Lindir keeps it. Lindir flattens him against the polished surface so his cheek is pressed to the wood. Lindir bends over him, wraps one arm under him, crushes them together and melds flush against his body. Lindir’s robes are already tenting around his crotch, and he grinds his need into Elrond’s taut rear. He opens his mouth against Elrond’s ear, pushing his tongue along the elegantly pointed tip, so very tantalizing. Elrond’s ears are beautiful, just like all of him, and Lindir enjoys nibbling at them. He tugs at the soft shell and mouths along the back, breath coming thick and husky. He tries to keep his words down, because all he has is praise when he’s meant to be scolding, but he still mutters, “I desire you _so greatly_.” Elrond is mostly quiet, save for his own hassled breaths, but Lindir is close to moaning, on the edge of gasping at each little sensation, everywhere their bodies touch. When Elrond shifts, trying to gain better purchase, his ass rubs Lindir’s housed cock, and Lindir whines lewdly. Elrond robs him of all control. In these times where he’s bid to _posses_ his master, he only wants to _meld their beings together_ , and he treats his lord rougher for it, though his tender love is no less true.

He fiddles with the front of Elrond’s robes, made more difficult by the surface of the desk, but Lindir isn’t willing to relinquish his hold. He already has one bare shoulder to spread his mouth against and kiss while he works. He presses his face to Elrond’s neck and breathes in his raw scent, spares one hand to brush aside his hair and nip at his sweet skin. Lindir tries not to _bite_ —he shouldn’t leave bruises, however fierce the desire to _mark_ and _claim_ sometimes is. Yet he can’t help pressing his teeth against the soft flesh, feeling every part of Elrond with every part of himself. 

Finally, he manages to tug Elrond’s robes open, and he shoves them down, trying not to tear them but pawing at them like a beast, revealing steadily more skin. He runs his hands over every new space he opens, until the robes have fallen far enough down Elrond’s thighs for Lindir to grab his tight rear, one cheek in each palm. Lindir squeezes them, drinks in Elrond’s sudden gasp, mouths at his cheek and nips his ear. Lindir leaves one hand to play with his prize, and the other he twists around Elrond’s front, glides over Elrond’s stomach, traces up his chest and throat to run over his chin. Lindir curls his fingers against Elrond’s lips, hissing, “Open your mouth, my lord.”

Elrond obeys. Lindir means to go slowly but can’t hold himself back, and he shoves four fingers in at once, stretching Elrond’s jaw and stroking Elrond’s tongue. He pushes as far as he can go, wanting to _feel_ everything of the tight, hot crevice, and he gathers what moisture he can. When he starts to draw his fingers in and out, he can’t help but think of it as _fucking Elrond’s mouth._ He keeps petting Elrond’s tongue to coax out more spit, and Elrond submits himself to the brutal treatment, so very _perfect_ in Lindir’s arms. He says nothing when Lindir draws his hand away, but his breath seems more ragged, and for an Elven warrior such as himself, that speaks volumes. 

Lindir returns to Elrond’s rear quickly, wanting to use all the liquid he gathered—as rough as he may be, he would never wish to harm his lord. He _worships_ this man, and it’s all he can do not to drop to his knees and cover Elrond’s hole in kisses, soaking it irreversibly. Sometimes it’s a struggle to stick to his role. But then his fingers are sliding down Elrond’s cleft, and it becomes easier. 

Lindir rubs one blunt fingertip around Elrond’s brim, the tight ring of puckered muscles fluttering hotly against him. Lindir purrs again into Elrond’s ear, “Open for me.” It isn’t an easy command to follow, but Elrond clearly tries. His hole dilates wide enough for Lindir to push one finger inside, only shallowly, and Elrond’s breath hitches. Lindir twists it slowly inside, murmuring over Elrond’s shoulder, “I _adore_ you.”

He can’t hold back the endearments. He knows Elrond knows them all. Yet he still scatters Elrond’s shoulder in kisses as he works his finger slowly in and out, wetting what he can, until he thinks it safe to push in a second. Elrond grunts but takes it, and Lindir makes a soothing nose, kissing Elrond’s cheek for a reward. He scissors Elrond wider, luxuriating in the warm, velvety insides of Elrond’s body. He savours it, enjoying it over and over again, until Elrond, for the first time since this started, speaks without being spoken to. He murmurs only, “ _Lindir_ ,” and it’s as gentle as it always is, but Lindir hears the subtle warning in it. The even slighter desperation. He pulls his fingers out and unfastens the clips across his crotch, parting his robes just enough to free his cock, already full and throbbing. 

He has to pull back when he positions his tip against Elrond’s hole; he wants to watch, to see the rosy rim of his lord’s opening spread open for him. Elrond doesn’t rise, but stays bent over the desk, his hair swept over one shoulder and his circlet askew atop his head. Lindir bends again to place a kiss against the top of his spine, then a little lick, then a hungry, feather-light bite. Finally, he wraps his arms back around Elrond’s middle, and he pushes his hips forward, slowly impaling his beloved lord on his engorged member. Elrond’s body tenses a fraction but quickly unwinds, his head lowered and breath short. Lindir’s completely breathless. 

When he’s fully seated in Elrond’s tight ass, he can hardly think straight. His vision is already swimming in bliss, and his body sings with pleasure; the heat, the pressure, the softness, the feeling of being _inside Lord Elrond_ , whom he loves more than anything in this world. He needs a moment just to regain himself. He whispers, “You are my everything,” and he leans his head next to Elrond’s. 

Elrond turns to kiss him. Just a light, chaste thing against his cheek. It’s the confirmation he needs that he isn’t alone. Elrond is demure, hushed and unhurried, but he’s still a very active participant to their budding relationship. Lindir has never once felt alone. He nuzzles into Elrond’s face, then pulls back to his role: the domination of his master. He rises above Elrond’s lithe frame and pulls his hips out, his cock slinking begrudgingly from its sheath. Elrond’s body seems to clutch at him, bidding him to stay inside. He takes only a heartbeat before conceding. His thrust back inside is quick and strong, rattling Elrond’s hips against the desk. The next is much the same. Lindir begins a powerful, harsh rhythm, just as fervent as his love. 

They’ve spent hours making love in the gardens. Lindir has ridden his lord in almost every chamber of Imladris, in almost every position, and they’ve lay beside one another with kind strokes and sweet kisses. Less often, they’re intense, pungent and piqued, but this is one of those occasions, where Lindir doesn’t strive to make love so much as to _fuck_ Elrond close to senseless. He becomes primal, wild, claiming his master like a feral beast, using the dormant Elven strength in all his muscles. When he sinks himself into Elrond’s body, he _slams_ inside, grinds his cock in, until he hits that special spot that makes even Lord Elrond shiver. Lindir can taste it. He delivers another blow to the same spot, then another, and finally his lord _moans_ , still quiet but so beautiful, eloquent and erotic and everything Lindir dreams of. Lindir hits it again, again, milks his master with everything he has. He kisses and nips and licks and runs his hands over Elrond’s chest, pinches Elrond’s nipples and rolls them between his fingers, until he can resist no longer, and he dips to Elrond’s cock, long and thick and hard against the desk. 

Wrapping his fingers around Elrond’s shaft, Lindir begins to pump Elrond to the beat of his thrusts. He pleasures them together, his other hand rising to fist in Elrond’s hair. He jerks it back abruptly, tugging Elrond’s face back and forcing him to hiss, and Lindir licks at his exposed throat, needy and hungry. But he lets Elrond go a second later, merely running his fingers through Elrond’s hair instead, then wrapping back around his chest. Every part of Elrond pleases him. He returns to Elrond’s ear and growls in a broiling rant, “I forgive you, my lord. Even though you shared yourself with guests when I would have had you for me alone, I forgive you. You are _mine_ again. I cannot be mad at you. You are too handsome to resist, too wise, too kind, too tempting to me. You forced me to serve others when I would have only _you_ in my life, but I forgive you, because I _love_ you, my ardor, my devotion knows no bounds. When there is nothing left of this world but ash, I will still love you, and I will be _yours_ to the end of both of our days.”

Elrond says nothing. He sounds _consumed_ , but he speaks with his body. He reaches for Lindir’s hand, and he wraps his fingers around it. He draws Lindir’s palm up and presses it against his breast, over his heart. It moves Lindir and puts water at the corners of his eyes, because even through their game, he knows what it means, and he has the memories of sweeter times, of Elrond’s fingers brushing his hair aside and Elrond’s lips whispering in his ear, _“I love you, my dear Lindir.”_

Lindir comes undone with a cry, his body falling all to pieces. His release streams into Elrond’s body, and Lindir’s hips push it forward, trapping it inside. He pumps one jet after another out, and he relishes in the feeling of his seed sloshing alongside his cock, painting Elrond’s walls, his love filling Elrond’s body. His head can barely keep conscious; his vision blurs and his weight leaves him, the heat scalding along his skin. It’s pure, unadulterated ecstasy, during which they exist as _one_ , and Lindir has everything he’s ever wanted. 

Even as he finishes, as he slowly falls back down, he strokes Elrond to completion. Elrond follows shortly, while Lindir’s hips are still moving, Elrond’s seed bubbling over Lindir’s hand and a strangled moan coming from his lips. It’s sheer art, like all of Elrond in this moment. In every moment. Lindir takes everything he has to give.

And then Lindir is slumping, heavy and boneless, atop Elrond’s bare body. He’s satiated, spent. Still immensely pleased, but dizzy from the force of it. He stays there, breathing hard, his hips stilling but his cock still inside. He doesn’t withdraw until the pressure becomes painful, and even then, he hates to have them apart. 

Together, they slip to the floor. It’s a strange position to see Elrond in, sprawled out on hands and knees with his robes in a mess around his legs. Lindir does his best to help pull them back on, though he misses the sight of Elrond’s body the second he does. Their roles completed, Lindir can feel his cheeks warming, likely staining pink, and he murmurs, embarrassed and small, “I am sorry, my lord.”

As usual, Elrond insists, “Do not be.” He takes Lindir’s chin in his hand, draws Lindir forward, and kisses Lindir’s lips. Then he presses their foreheads together and sighs, “You are always a delight to me.”

Lindir wants to wrap his arms around Elrond and pull them both to the floor, lie in an entangled puddle and never let go. But Elrond is already rising, pulling Lindir with him. Their hands slip together. Elrond leads them towards the bed, and Lindir follows, just as he promised he always will. 

And he meant every word.


End file.
